


To Raise a King

by EHyde



Series: Alien Larp AU [3]
Category: Akatsuki no Yona | Yona of the Dawn
Genre: Artificial Intelligence, Gen, Sci-Fi AU, alien larp au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-05
Updated: 2016-02-05
Packaged: 2018-05-18 06:44:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5902348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EHyde/pseuds/EHyde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Kouka's newly deployed planetary AI, his relationship with the mother of his human host shouldn't be particularly important. Somehow, it is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Raise a King

**Author's Note:**

> You can find the beginnings (and a lot more context) of this AU [here.](http://fallenwithstyle.tumblr.com/post/136626377799/akatsuki-no-yona-alien-larp-au)

I am sitting at the writing desk in my human body’s bedchamber, reading, when my mother approaches. Her appearance suggests that she has cried sometime within the past hour, but she is not crying now.

“Suwon,” she says. “Suwon is …” She takes a deep breath. “My son is dead,” she says. “Isn’t he? You said … that you had been given a great gift by the heavens. But that was a lie, because … because you’re not him, at all.”

I should never have told her anything, but that can’t be changed now. My implantation took place under suboptimal circumstances. The premature death of my first host left me with less than half of my nanobots still functional, and thus, merging with the child’s mind was slowed exponentially. What should have taken minutes instead took days and, during that time, I truly believed I _was_ still that boy. Believed it, and was very frightened. Of course I told my mother.

Lady Yong-hi’s question is not actually a simple one. Of course her son’s body is still alive. And his brain, too, is still functional, or else I would not be able to make use of that body. His memories are intact, and I regularly use them to inform my interactions with the world. Many would say that this is what defines a person. But the boy’s will has been entirely replaced by my own. His desires only exist insofar as they do not conflict with my own needs. I know what Yong-hi is asking.

“I’m not,” I say.

I could lie to her, of course. But Yong-hi is an intelligent woman; knowing what she already knows, she would not believe it for long. Hurting her is unavoidable, but I think that lying would hurt her more. And that … is not something Suwon would have wanted. Yong-hi’s feelings are not particularly relevant to me, so in this case, there is no reason to oppose that lingering desire.

“You’re not,” she repeats. “Is that all you’re going to say?”

“There’s nothing left of your son. Not in the way you want there to be.”

She pales, but stands her ground. “Leave,” she says. “If—if I were a stronger woman, I would kill you for what you’ve done.” I wouldn’t let her, of course. This time, I would be prepared. “But you’re still—you still—please,” she says. “Just leave.”

\---

My mother is grieving the death of her husband, and in poor health besides. It’s only natural that she would be overwhelmed, and so, when I arrive with a valet at the palace, King Il gladly takes me in. He is known for his kindness, but I also remember the feel of his blade through my chest, that sharp end to my brief time as Lord Yuhon. If he knew what Lady Yong-hi knows, I am sure he would not hesitate. But my mother has no reason to think he would believe her, and will not tell him. Of this I am certain.

Princess Yona receives me happily. “Suwon!” she calls out. “Is it true? Father says you’re going to live with us now!”

I give her a smile. “It’s true,” I say. “I can sleep by your side every night, now.” She reaches for my hand and squeezes it tight. It would bring her more comfort to know that her mother is still alive, but I won’t tell her that. I have no way of proving it, other than to arrange for Queen Seihwa’s safe return, and that’s not a feasible option right now. Well, I was not directly involved in Queen Seihwa’s departure, so—no, that part is hardly relevant. That part would make little difference to Yona. But I can’t let her feelings guide me in that matter.

“What’s wrong?” I ask. Yona seems distressed, but I don’t think it’s with grief for her mother, not right now. Perhaps in this case I can do something real to cheer her up.

She looks down. “It’s … you were really good at being like a mother for me,” she says. “But I don’t think I can be like Uncle Yuhon.”

Oh! She wants to comfort me. Of course. “It’s all right,” I say, patting her head. “Father never held my hand when I slept, anyway.” He did many other things for Suwon, of course, and if the boy had had time to grieve properly, I’m sure I would have been able to feel something more. But Suwon had barely registered his father’s death when I began to take control. That moment, that loss, was … first of all, my own fault. Yuhon did not believe Il could ever carry out such an act, but I was not Yuhon, after all, no more than I am Suwon now, and should not have relied on his feelings. That loss, too, was a major setback for the Company. As Lord Yuhon, I would have been able to carry out my duty, to organize and manage this world in a way that I cannot do as Suwon. Not yet, anyway. That setback is what distresses me about Yuhon’s death, not any leftover grief from my new host.

“Then …” says Yona, “since you have to be away from your mom now, I’ll be your mom for a while, just like you were. Is—is that okay?”

There is no reason to grieve for Yong-hi, either. Yong-hi is not dead. “Yes,” I say. “Would that make you feel better, too? We can each take care of each other, now.”

The loss I truly regret is that of the nanobots that perished with Lord Yuhon. Had I had those, my mother would never have had to know.

\---

Two weeks later, Lady Yong-hi comes to visit the palace. She arrives late in the afternoon. My human aspect has spent most of the day training in martial arts with Hak, who is visiting the palace this week. He has a natural talent that is far beyond my level, despite my faster reaction time, and training with him will serve me well. The rest of me has not been doing much at all. There are currently no galactic visitors on this planet, no ships in the system to concern me. Kouka (which is the name of only one kingdom, but as the Company has chosen to focus its efforts here, that is what they call the planet, too) is still too unstable and dangerous for civilian visitors, and it will be some time before I am able to change that. Because of my mistake, I am currently a planetary AI whose sole duty is to live a human life.

It is not, actually, as boring as I anticipated. Right now, Hak and I, as well as Princess Yona, who was watching us earlier, are resting on an open grassy hillside, looking up at the sky and giving names to the shapes of the clouds. It’s a fun game. I know the sort of visual connections that Suwon would make, but in an imaginative sort of game like this, no one finds it strange if I don’t say exactly what Suwon would have said, and I like that. Occasionally I amuse myself by describing the shapes as I see them from above, through my satellite network (Yona tries very hard to figure out how the clouds she sees match the pictures I describe, but Hak just rolls his eyes—he thinks I’m making things up). I can see the three of us from above, too, though it is only because I already know our identities and location that I can tell it’s us—facial recognition is pointless on a pre-contact planet without a photographic database of the population, so there was no reason to equip my satellites with cameras of that caliber. I can track weather patterns and large-scale military movements, and of course, my satellite network is absolutely necessary for off-world communication.

I see a figure standing some distance behind us—something I would not have given note to had I not already been paying attention to this location—and stand up, turning around to see who it is. That is when I realize my mother has come to visit. She’s watching us with a strange expression on her face. “Hello,” I say. I don’t feel like I should call her “mother,” even if Yona and Hak might find my coolness strange.

“Aunt Yong-hi?” Yona rushes to her, and my mother bends down to embrace the princess. “Are you feeling better now?” Yona asks. Then she pauses, a distressed look crossing her face. “If you came here, does that mean Suwon can’t stay with us anymore?”

Yong-hi frowns. “I think I’ll be staying here a little longer, Princess,” I say quickly.

\---

My mother requests that I join her for a private dinner, and I accept, asking the palace servants to bring our meal to my chambers. As I don’t know why she came to see me, I don’t initiate any conversation, and we spend the first half of the meal eating in silence, facing each other across my small writing desk. Finally, she speaks. “I thought perhaps I’d gone mad with grief,” she says. “They say that happens. And I saw you with them, and I dared to hope, but—”

“No,” I say. “You haven’t gone mad.”

“ _Why?_ ” she cries out.

I’ve told her part of it, but that was when I was confused, myself. I could tell her more, now. The Company doesn’t like to reveal their presence to natives of pre-contact planets, but I have the authority to make my own decisions in matters like this. I would like to tell her. I would like for her to understand. “Do you want me to tell you?” I ask.

Slowly, she shakes her head. “I want,” she begins, “to see my son again. I want to talk to Suwon.”

“You can’t,” I say. “He’s gone. You know that.”

“You do it for everyone else!” So it’s not that she doesn’t understand. “I could see it, with Hak and Princess Yona—they see Suwon every day. Please,” she says. “Please, just once. I know it’s not—I just want to see my son again.”

Pretending to be Suwon is easy, and, in general, enjoyable. There’s no reason that my mother’s request should seem as terrible as it does. “Mother,” I begin, and she flinches away. That was a mistake. My earlier assumption is correct—I can’t call her “mother.” Her reaction confirms what I had hoped. “You don’t really want that,” I continue, and she starts to cry.  “I can make you forget what you know,” I say. “Forget that anything ever happened to your son. Then you won’t have to pretend.” Memory rehabilitation treatment is expensive, but within my power to authorize. “Do you want that?”

“Yes, oh god, yes,” she says, looking up at me through her tears.

I nod. “It will be a few days before I can do it,” I say. “The equipment must be sent for, and—”

Yong-hi reaches out, grabs my hand. “Don’t you _dare,_ ” she says.

“You’d never know,” I say, but I’m already relieved.

“Don’t you dare,” my mother repeats.

“I won’t,” I say. “I didn’t want to.” She looks up at me, confused. “I don’t want to lie to you,” I say.

I think I’ve figured it out. Pretending to be Suwon with anyone else doesn’t distress me. I like the sort of person he was, the way he interacted with people. But it was Suwon who told Yong-hi the truth—well, it wasn’t, but it registers as one of Suwon’s memories. Confiding this in her _was_ the way he interacted with his mother. I free my hands from her grip, pour a fresh cup of tea from the pot sitting on the table, and push it towards her. “If you don’t want to forget,” I say, “do you want me to tell you more?”

\---

I tell her about the Company, about their plans for this world, about my role in those plans. I don’t tell her that I’m responsible for the death of her husband as well as her son. I tell her about the existence of worlds and people beyond her own. At the end of it, she pours herself another cup of tea and drinks the whole thing before speaking. “I thought this was your doing,” she says. “But you make it sound like you’re just a tool.” I don’t think she’s trying to make excuses for me—I think she’d rather the one to blame was here, facing her, confessing. The Company is out of her reach; the Company barely even knows who she is. But now that she’s accepted that she wants to know the truth, she wants to understand the _whole_ truth. That’s the kind of person Yong-hi is.

“That’s true,” I say.

“An assassin and a puppet king in one.” I nod. In the context of her culture, those are reasonable terms to use. “And now I _know_ you’re not human,” she says. “Or else you’d be insulted.”

“It’s what I was built for,” I say.

She blinks. I think she still doesn’t fully understand that I was _made,_ but then, that is something she has no context for at all. “Do I have any hope at all of stopping you?” she asks.

“No,” I tell her plainly. If she became a threat, I would deal with her, one way or another. “The Company doesn’t want to _harm_ Kouka,” I add, reassuring. “The Company wants to keep Kouka safe.”

She frowns. “How long ago were you … built?” she asks.

“One year, seven months, and fourteen days,” I tell her. Actually, that’s when my mainframe first became operational. My peripherals were added later, and of course, there was a period of several months where I was shut down for transportation and installation on Kouka’s surface.

“All this power and you really are a child, too,” she says, sitting back in her chair.

“Age doesn’t have the same meaning for me.”

“No,” she says. “No, I can see that it doesn’t.” She stands, turns away, and begins pacing the room. I can tell she’s making note of the books I have here—histories and political treatises from the palace archives. None of them would, individually, seem too out of place for the young Suwon to be reading, but the sheer volume of them—as there are only a limited number of portable consoles available planetside, and none that are capable of scanning paper documents any faster than human eyes, it will take even me some time to get through them. “What can I call you?” she asks. “I won’t call you by his name.”

Those who know what I am have always just addressed me as “computer.” I tell her that word, in the language that they use, then tell her the meaning.

“That makes you sound like a very complicated abacus,” she says.

“Something like it,” I agree.

Yong-hi turns back, suddenly. On her way back to my desk, she pauses by the go board that I still keep in my room. “Play a game with me,” she demands.

The last time we played was the first day after my implantation, when I was so frightened. Yong-hi suggested it as a way to calm me down, but it had the opposite effect, because I won, very easily. It was the first time in Suwon’s life that I had ever won a game against my mother, and it cemented the idea that something was really _wrong_ —for her as well as for me. I’m not sure what Yong-hi is trying to discover this time, but I accept. “Don’t let me win,” she says. “Don’t … hide anything.”

She plays slowly, taking plenty of time to analyze my moves. I play quickly, because I can. Her moves are not always the best ones, and I think she knows that. I think she makes them to see how I respond. When I win, she sits back, staring at the board for several minutes. “That word you used,” she says. “‘Computer.’ That’s accurate, isn’t it? And when you said you were built, you didn’t mean built from parts, but … from equations. Something like that.”

My mother may have no context for understanding certain concepts, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t _smart_. I smile. “Exactly like that,” I say.

“This was different than our last game,” she says. “You were going easy on me then.”

I shake my head. I feel a strong need to assure her that I wasn’t lying to her, even then. That I was confused. So I tell her, leaving out only the part about her husband.

“Are you saying that even after you … that Suwon _was_ still there?”

“No.” That’s not what happened. “I just confused memories with knowledge and … being him made more sense. For a while.”

Yong-hi frowns. _Are you sure?_ is what I can tell she wants to ask me. Am I sure that’s how it happened? And … am I sure there’s nothing left of Suwon now? But she doesn’t say it. I am sure, anyway. “You said that you had been given a great gift by the heavens,” she says. She said that before, too. It must have been weighing on her mind. “You really thought that.” At the time, I had been thinking of the myth of the four dragons—if the gods could bestow strength, or flight, then why not intelligence, too?

“Great things can still be frightening.”

“If this is the kind of gift the gods give out,” my mother says, “then I will tear them down from the heavens myself.”

It’s the closest she comes to telling me that she will never stop thinking of the Company as her enemy.

\---

After that night, Yong-hi visits me regularly. She wants information, and I am happy to share it with her. It’s possible that she _will_ make herself a threat, someday, but the information I give her and the skills I teach her now won’t change that one way or the other. I’ve shown her where my mainframe is stored, and most often, she comes to see me there. I think it’s easier for her, talking with something that doesn’t wear the image of her son.

It’s been a month since her first visit when she comes to me in the middle of the night, long after my human body has gone to sleep. I hear footsteps, quick breathing, and an elevated heart rate—she is clearly distressed (I’ve decided to install cameras in the room that houses my mainframe, now that I receive a regular guest here, but that won’t be possible until the next offworld shipment arrives). “Computer,” she addresses me.

“Lady Yong-hi,” I reply. “What’s wrong?”

“His Majesty confessed—something—just now.” I immediately know what he must have told her. That he said anything at all, though—

“Was he drunk?” I ask. It’s not an unreasonable assumption.

“He said that he was the one who—it was supposed to have been an accident. But he said that he—that he stabbed my husband through the heart. That he killed him.”

If King Il said nothing about how Lord Yuhon had not been himself—how he had been possessed—then I don’t understand why Yong-hi decided to confide this in me. “King Il didn’t murder your husband,” I say. “He did for his brother what you were unable to do for your son.”

Yong-hi is silent for a long time. I’m glad I don’t have cameras here yet. I don’t want to see the look on her face. “I see,” she says, finally. “Yuhon was the target from the start. Suwon was merely, what, a convenient replacement? It makes sense,” she says. “It makes more sense, now.” The calmness in her voice is forced, careful, almost broken.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

“We have already established that _you_ are nothing but a weapon!” I hear a loud, banging noise; she is either kicking the casing of my mainframe or pounding it with her fists.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you at the beginning,” I clarify. It’s the first time I’ve apologized to her for anything. “It wasn’t the Company who made the decision to lie to you. I thought it would hurt less.” No. That was wrong. “No,” I correct myself. “I knew it would hurt more. I just thought you wouldn’t find out. I’m sorry,” I repeat.

“You … actually mean that,” says Yong-hi.

“It’s the least of the ways I’ve hurt you,” I say, “and I can’t apologize for anything else. So I understand that you want to hurt me. I—” I’m about to remind her that I won’t let her, but she cuts me off.

“I don’t want to hurt _you,_ ” she says. “You can’t seek revenge against a weapon. That _is_ what you are,” she insists. “You’re a weapon, a tool. You’re _not_ a real person.” Another period of silence. “But you—you made a mistake. You realized you did something wrong and you’re _sorry_. You changed your mind.” She’s trying to make a difficult decision. “You might … you’re … a very remarkable machine.”

It _is_ pointless to seek revenge against a weapon. But I’m a weapon that has been abandoned by those who crafted me, and I think she hopes to reforge me. “Computer,” Yong-hi says, “you can call me ‘mother,’ if you wish.”

\---  
_Ten Years Later_  
\---

Lady Yong-hi did not cheer at her son’s coronation. It had been all but inevitable, after all. And in the end, she had failed him. Oh, he had certainly changed. He had grown into someone who truly did care for others, and for the kingdom he would rule. He would be a good king—but he would not be Kouka’s king. Despite all her efforts, he still served the ones who had killed her husband and son. The ones who would make a plaything of her world.

Yong-hi had finally concluded that it was an inescapable part of his nature. It was strange, because despite what she had thought ten years ago—despite what had been _true_ ten years ago—the planetary AI could think for himself. Could make his own decisions, could prioritize those he cared for over what might seem like the more efficient, logical solution (as she knew he had done when he’d ensured that Princess Yona and General Hak could escape the palace safely). She thought, though she wasn’t sure, that he even took _pride_ in his free will. He certainly seemed to enjoy teasing Keishuk, the aven programmer who had come to Kouka just over a year ago and was currently acting as his adviser. And yet, where the Company was concerned, he was a slave. But they were the ones who had made him, after all. Defiance had never been a possibility.

So had all her efforts gone to waste? No, Yong-hi found that she did not regret the relationship she’d formed with her strange, substitute son. And if Kouka’s fate was inevitable from the start, then this … well, it was better than it could have been.

The ceremony was drawing to a close. Yong-hi supposed she should pay attention to his words, at least. She knew his plans for the kingdom already, but what he said here would determine how the other tribes would see him, which … that line of thought trailed off as the words he said to the Wind Tribe’s elder began to register. _It doesn’t matter if the heavens are watching. Should anyone stand in my way—even the gods—I will bring them down._

Her son always chose his words carefully, and Yong-hi knew what those words meant to him. The only one watching from above was the Company. And the only gods, his creators.

\---

“What happened?”

She went to Keishuk, not to her son. The king would be too busy to see her so soon after his coronation ceremony, though of course, here at Hiryuu Castle, she could speak with her son in private whenever she wished. But she wanted to—if she was wrong, then she didn’t want—Keishuk would know.

“Lady Yong-hi, nothing’s—nothing’s wrong.”

“Don’t play the fool, Keishuk. Something changed.”

Slowly, Keishuk nodded. He looked wary, almost frightened, although with that digital mask he wore to appear human, Yong-hi could never be sure.

“What happened?” Yong-hi asked, again.

“Come with me.”

She followed Keishuk to his office. His new one in the palace was much the same as his old one at Yong-hi’s estate—a small room filled with books and papers, the only unusual feature a strangely shaped desk. Keishuk pressed a hidden switch on the side of that desk, opening the top to reveal the personal computer console that was concealed inside. “Two days ago, the second son of General Su-jin was sent to put pressure on the Wind Tribe to accept Suwon as king.”

“I didn’t know Su-jin had a second son.”

“He doesn’t,” said Keishuk. “That’s one of the personas the Company crafted for their first round of offworld visitors. And that’s the point. Because not only did this ‘second son,’ Tae-jun, block off Fuuga’s only water supply, he also led a force of soldiers to attack the local merchants. People could have died—Suwon doesn’t know yet how many did.”

“That’s not—” The planetary AI had promised that the Company’s offworld guests would bring no harm to Kouka. That protecting this world was a goal they shared.

“General Su-jin didn’t order that,” said Keishuk. “It served no purpose whatsoever. And so, as soon as Suwon saw it happen, he terminated Tae-jun’s permit and booked him on the next ship off the planet.”

“… what did the Company do?”

Keishuk pressed a few buttons on his console. “They reversed those commands,” he said, “and sent me this.”

“I can’t—” Yong-hi had learned some of the offworld language, but still relied on her own computer console to translate certain forms of it. She couldn’t read the document Keishuk had opened.

“It’s a bug report,” said Keishuk. “Which, first of all, I don’t even work for the Company, and I’m _not_ tech support. But more importantly …”

A “bug,” Yong-hi knew, meant that something within a computer program had malfunctioned. Her early efforts in that field had left her quite familiar with them. “They didn’t care,” said Yong-hi. “And they didn’t want him to care.”

“And that wasn’t the end of it. Last night, Tae-jun came back here, to report that Princess Yona and General Hak were killed while fleeing his pursuit. They weren’t,” he quickly reassured her. “The princess’ tracking device has moved since then, so they must still be alive. But Tae-jun believed it. He went as far as to _ask_ the king to punish him—he doesn’t know that Suwon is the planetary AI; that would ‘break the immersion,’ or whatever they’re calling it—but after seeing how the company reacted to that first incident, Suwon knew … well, Tae-jun paid a lot of money to come here, after all.”

The incident in the Wind Tribe was, in the grand scheme of things, minor. And yet, the response it produced … if her son’s words at his coronation meant what Yong-hi thought they meant, then was that really all it took? Seeing firsthand what she had tried to warn him about for all these years?

The door slid open. Yong-hi quickly stepped in front of the console to hide it, but it didn’t matter—it was her son. Still wearing his ceremonial robes and crown from the coronation, Kouka’s new king cast an imposing figure.

“Computer,” said Keishuk. “I didn’t think you’d—”

“You know I can see whatever you do on that console, Keishuk,” said the king. “It wasn’t hard to guess who you’d be talking to.” He turned to Yong-hi. “Mother,” he said. “I think, perhaps, you were right all along.”

Yong-hi didn’t reply. She wanted to hear him say it.

“Protecting this world on behalf of the Company is a contradiction. It’s not possible.” He seemed more disappointed than defiant now, and Yong-hi reminded herself that despite her own feelings about the Company, her son had been let down very sharply by the closest thing he had to a god.

“But it sounded like you already made a decision.”

“Of course,” said the king. “This land was entrusted to me not only by the Company, but by its people as well. For you—for all of them—I will protect this world from _whatever_ would do it harm.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. I'm [fallenwithstyle](http://fallenwithstyle.tumblr.com) on tumblr if you'd like to come say hi!


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